


To Heal Those Wounds

by BakerStTardis (Sokashi)



Series: Hobbit Advent [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokashi/pseuds/BakerStTardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day Five Hobbit Advent. Prompt traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Heal Those Wounds

"Mail's here!" Frodo bellowed as he barreled down the hall. Bilbo winced and scowled but didn't have the heart to scold the child. Besides, he was in the middle of a sentence and after the door banged shut there was blessed silence but for the sound of his quill scratching at paper...

"Uncle."

"Hmmm."

"Uncle."

"Yes."

"Uncle."

"What-" A brown paper package that had been waving at him hit him in the forehead when he turned to look at Frodo. 

The child flinched but giggled, backing away."Sorry!" He squeaked from the doorway, package still in hand. "Are you okay?" 

Bilbo rubbed his forehead and told himself he was more annoyed than hurt and certainly neither warranted snapping at Frodo like he wanted to. He was just cranky about being interrupted and Frodo HAD tried to gain his attention. "I'm fine, Frodo. Just- what have you got there?"

Frodo stepped carefully inside offering up the beaten, mud stained package. "It's what I was trying to tell you. You got a box! Who's it from?" Bilbo took it and straightened so Frodo could climb in his lap. Frodo had only been with him a few months now but the actions were already automatic as was the feeling of warmth that glowed in Bilbo's chest where it had been cold for so long.

"I don't know. I'm not expecting anything." Bilbo responded, focusing on balancing squirming child and unknown package. "Hold still and let me look." He grumped. Frodo froze dramatically in that way children had and Bilbo rolled his eyes. The box was small and weathered. His name and address were so dirty and faded the writing was almost illegible, but the handwriting was also almost familiar.... "I have no idea what this could be." He told Frodo. "And there's no return address."

"Open it!" Frodo cheered and waved rather grubby hands at it in excitement. Ignoring that cringe worthy sight for the moment, Bilbo reached behind him for his letter opener and sliced it open. Heavy brown paper, a stained but plain box underneath. Bilbo pried the lid open and stared. It was a handkerchief. Soft white linen, very fine, with the initials BB carefully embroidered in the corner. Next to them, in a light gold thread, was the number 14. Bilbo froze. 

The memory was sharp and fresh. the horror of having forgotten a single handkerchief despite the excitement that had been thrumming through his veins at what he was doing. The laughter at his (now rather embarrassing) outburst. That nasty old pocket Bofur had thrown to him... Frodo was wriggling and chattering again, but Bilbo was deaf to it all, fingers hovering over the cloth. The box fell away and Bilbo then was just holding the handkerchief and staring and Frodo sounded worried now and that- that brought him back. "Uncle? Uncle Bilbo are you okay?" Frodo had twisted in his lap and patted his cheek worriedly. Bilbo blinked a couple of times then stood, sliding Frodo into the chair.

"I'm fine. Fine, Frodo. Just-" Bilbo cleared his throat and looked at his nephew, tried to give him a little smile. "Just give me a moment, yeah?" Without waiting for a reply, Bilbo turned and left the study for his bedroom. Things weren't any better there. He was still holding the handkerchief. Just a handkerchief. With his initials and- no note. There had been no note. Bilbo looked around a little wildly then shoved it into his nightstand, closing the drawer firmly. Later. He'd face it later.

When he turned back around Frodo was peering around the edge of the door, a little red faced, eyes too large and worried. Bilbo smiled and strode forward. "Hey, now. It's okay. It's nothing." He scooped Frodo up and savored the arms that wrapped around his neck. 

"Don't be sad, Uncle Bilbo." Frodo whispered hugging him tight.

"I'm fine, Frodo." Bilbo said again and firmly put it from his mind. "How about a snack? We've got that lovely new jar of blackberry jam to try..."

It was later that night that Bilbo let himself think of it again. Lying in bed, restless and fretting, Bilbo eventually tugged it out of the drawer. Soft, expensive linen. His initials were familiar under his fingertips and The number 14 shimmered in the moonlight. Staring at it Bilbo didn't know what the handkerchief was supposed to mean nor what he was supposed to do about it, but it soaked up any tears he might've shed just fine and the linen was expensive enough not to leave a trace of it on his face the next morning to worry anyone who saw him. It stayed in his bedside drawer and Frodo, the smart child, never mentioned it. Bilbo put it from his mind. 

Until the next one came.

The box was the same as the first, a little worse for wear. Bilbo hid it away until after Frodo went to bed then tore it open only to see another handkerchief with no note before he tossed it to the back of his closet. All the late night angry cleaning and cursing beneath his breath didn't do him any good until he dug it back out again to look at. This one was knitted in light green, the pattern a little clumsy but nice. Bilbo cried again, muffled his tears from his sleeping nephew and woke the next morning with puffy red eyes and a sadness he couldn't explain. He sent Frodo out to play with the neighbors all day so he could brood and think but it did no good. They weren't his friends. They weren't letters of apologies or notes to say they were doing well. They were just handkerchiefs. A running joke. A sore reminder of raw wounds.

Still they came. 

Bilbo had then tucked all over Bag End. The first one stayed in his night stand and the knitted one had been relegated to his dressing gown pocket. There was an outrageously bejeweled one stuffed between some books in his study (where no respectable hobbit would see it) and a sturdy, heavy practical one with his gardening tools. The little brown boxes quit completely breaking his heart about the time he opened a box to find two matching handkerchiefs in familiar shades of blue and maroon inside, though. The colors didn't match any of his clothes but he tended to carry them anyway,just for their comforting weight in his pocket.

It was the one that came on his birthday that clued him in. He held the beaten box and stared at the calendars in his study in surprise. The handkerchiefs came every holiday; hobbit or dwarven, like some sort of cross cultural tradition he hadn't been warned about. It was obvious now that he looked at it. He'd marked each box's arrival carefully with a little rune that seemed to correspond with all the holidays and birthdays and events he could recall existing. Some of the days he simply had to assume were holidays because the dwarves had been so secretive about so much, but he had a good memory and could make a good guess. Almost a years' worth of packages, from Yuletide to his birthday, couldn't just be coincidence. 

Pleased with the realisation, Bilbo carried the box into the living room where Frodo was waiting. He looked a little anxious standing there plucking at the buttons of his nicest shirt but perked up at the sight of his Uncle. They were both half dressed for their party that night and there were easily half a dozen things they should be doing, but... Bilbo sat in his chair and waved Frodo over. "I think this one came for our birthday, Frodo." He said, setting the box to the side so Frodo could climb into his lap. "You see, other cultures don't give away presents to others on their birthday, but are given presents instead." Frodo giggled a little, like Bilbo was teasing him.

"That's weird."

Bilbo made a chastising noise. "It's different, Frodo, but different isn't weird." He said gently. "You should always respect others' traditions. Even if they seem foolish at first."

Wide eyed, Frodo nodded and bit his lip as Bilbo picked the package back up. This one was fatter and thicker than normal. Bilbo pried it open a little more carefully than normal to find a handkerchief folded into the shape of a dragon, like a little child's toy. "Ooh." Frodo murmured and started to reach for it then froze and looked up at his Uncle. Bilbo laughed a little and carefully lifted the dragon out to sit in his palm. "Go ahead. You can touch it, Frodo." 

Frodo grinned and stroked its tiny head. "It's beautiful." He looked up hopefully. "Can I keep it in my room?"

Bilbo chuckled, unable to take his eyes off the delicate work. "Maybe we should keep it on the mantle? Then everyone could see it and it won't get lost in your mess." He teased.

Frodo made a pouty face but quickly smiled and nodded. "Can I show Sam?" He asked earnestly.

"Maybe tomorrow, Frodo. He'll be excited about the party today." 

"Okay." Frodo said easily. "Can I hold him?"

At that, Bilbo looked away and shifted his nephew in his lap. "Certainly. But careful." He held tight to Frodo as the child cupped the dragon in both palms. It had to be fairly sturdy to survive the trip but Frodo would be heartbroken if it fell apart now. He twisted and turned his hands, staring at it while Bilbo smiled and enjoyed the moment. "Frodo, did I ever tell you about my friend Bifur?" He asked thoughtfully.

Frodo shook his head and glanced up at him through messy curls. "Is he one of your dwarves?" He asked and Bilbo laughed at his clever little child.

"Yes. He is." Bilbo said fondly. "When I first met him he looked terribly frightening. Lots of wild black and white hair and an axe! He has an axe stuck in his head!" Frodo looked up at him with wide eyes and Bilbo grinned, settling in for a nice story. "He can't speak a word I can understand, but he's one of the sweetest beings I've ever met. He's a toy maker, or at least he was. When we were on our quest he was always carving little bits..." Bilbo spoke and Frodo listened as he always did, rapt and eager for more. They were a little rushed for their party later that evening and their clothes were a little wrinkled from sitting around but Bilbo smiled the whole time and felt a little lighter than he had in a long time.


End file.
